Jonathan Lethem reads his story from the May 18, 2020, issue of the magazine. In fact, as R. milled about, he soon lost sight of the doors by which he’d entered. When R. turned fully around he saw that he’d lost the bearded man in the movement of bodies. The smaller room, he saw now, had been a mistake, a waste of time. “The Afterlife” seems to be a story about just that: Or had more water been piped in now? “Come, there must be someone.” He offered a hand, drew the man to his feet, back into the game. It wouldn’t have done any good. To revisit this article, visit My Profile, then View saved stories. Again?—at the extent of this space, and all the possible encounters contained within it. There have been at least a dozen issues of The New Yorker since then. Yet how could he get far enough back to see it in its entirety? And why should he have cared to listen then? The teeming reached its limit, and R. found himself toppled with a mass of others down a smooth bank, into one of the trenches. He gathered himself just as they pulled up again, outside the place, the situation he’d so easily recognized, even the first time—curbside entrance, sliding doors, etc.—and allowed himself to be swept, with his cohort, into the afterlife. © Stitcher 2019, all content is copyright of its owners. “I’m sorry?” he said, cupping his hand to his ear. Under such circumstances, even the briefest acquaintance would signify enormously. Continuing to be swept by the general imperative of motion that had guided their entry, he and the others from the bus—which, he’d begun to feel certain, was only the most recent—dispersed and explored. Knowing the plot of “Revengers: Spendblame” might be the only social capital broad enough to signify here. This wasn’t an atrium, nor was it a hangar. R., untempted, pushed away. So R. turned back toward the large room from which he’d come, seeking free space. No reply came, only the rich incomprehensible babble and murmur of other voices, other priorities. Down here, among the fallen, it was strangely quiet. No one to blame. Sign up for the Books & Fiction newsletter. Jonathan Lethem Reads “The Afterlife” ... Jonathan Lethem reads his story from the May 18, 2020, issue of the magazine. They knew as well. R. was party to this. There was no guardrail. ♦. Once they were within, the whole matter of the bus seemed irretrievably distant. Ahead, in the great stream of bodies, R. now spotted a kind of island, an area left vacant. The easiest way to listen to podcasts on your iPhone, iPad, Android, PC, smart speaker — and even in your car. 1. Even as he registered the thought, he understood that this was a preoccupation among many of those roaming the floor. The author reads his story from the May 18, 2020, issue of the magazine. Jonathan Allen Lethem (/ ˈ l iː θ əm /; born February 19, 1964) is an American novelist, essayist, and short story writer. Several bodies clung to it, like a raft. I need someone much younger.”. Hey, you kids, get off my lawn! They were sized to stand on the floor, at a height of three or four feet, to stand as unthreatening, enigmatic bodies in public space. Had his certainty wavered? he almost joked, but it was hardly funny. If he could have written the words down they’d make epic mediocre poetry, or perhaps lyrics for a post-punk band.